A Child's Wish
by padfootastic
Summary: Eight year old James Potter wants to be a portrait, after his ancestors. He would have tea and crumpets with his great-great-many times great-grandfather, just like the Queen. Too bad he can't just wave a wand over himself to be one.


**Well, hey there! I hope y'all enjoy this little drabble about the Potter family.**

 **Feel free to leave a review telling me what you guys thought!**

 **Also, according to Pottermore, Ralston Potter is some ancestor in the Potter line in the 1650s, so I took small liberties with his death :")**

* * *

James Potter stood in the antique room, one hand on his hip and the other on his chin. His inquisitive hazel eyes were hid behind his glasses. He cocked his head to the side as he stared at the object in front of him. The object in question stared right back at him. Steeling himself a little bit more, the eight year old took a tiny step forward, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

He was so engrossed in his task that he missed the large oak door being opened and his parents entering the room. However, when Euphemia Potter placed a hand on his shoulder, he jumped in surprise, his glasses sliding off his nose.

"Mum! You scared me!" James scowled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I thought you had noticed us entering," Euphemia spoke in her soft voice. James merely shook his head at her and turned back to his observations.

A few minutes later, Fleamont Potter spoke p, "What...are you doing, son?"

"I'm looking at Mr. uh," He looked at the nametag and continued, "Mr. Ralston Potter."

"Oh?" His father questioned.

"Yes," James replied, "I want to be a portrait just like him!"

Euphemia couldn't quite muffle her laugh at his triumphant expression and wrapped her arms around his tiny frame, pressing a kiss to his mane of messy black hair.

Fleamont, on the other hand, amused as he was, continued his line of questioning to see where it would take him, "And why, pray, do you want to be a portrait, of all things, son? Didn't you want to be a quidditch player just a week ago?"

James, having managed to get out of the clutches of his mother, waved his hand impatiently, "Oh, dad, that's so boring now. I mean, LOOK at him! He died like a thousand years ago- ' _three hundred,_ his father coughed'- and he's still here! It's so awesome!"

The man in question, Mr. Ralston scowled at the boy, the ancient portrait not able to do anything more than employ a rather limited expanse of facial expressions, as compared to the more modern portraits of his ancestors who could walk and talk.

Fleamont nodded once, as if he understood everything the little boy was talking about, but it was Euphemia who spoke up this time.

"How do you plan on becoming a portrait, James?"

James turned to her, a slight frown on his childish features, "What do you mean how do I plan on becoming a portrait, mum? Just like everyone in this room, that's how." He looked at his dad, "I bet you know how to turn people into portraits, don't you dad?"

Fleamont coughed into his hand, "What gave you that idea, son?"

James spoke in a nonchalant voice with all the innocence of an eight year old, "Oh come on, you know everything dad, and if you don't, then mum will." He shrugged his shoulders as if that settled it and went back to his previous staring match with his ancestor.

The two parents looked at each other with identical grins on their faces, already planning what they would do next.

* * *

"MUUUUUUM!" James Potter, with a pout on his face, whined.

Euphemia smirked, "Yes, son?"

"What is this? Why am I sitting like this? IT'S BEEN HOURS!" James' distraught voice echoed all around the antique room they were sitting in.

"Weren't you the one who said you wanted to be a portrait? Well, there you go."

James' mouth dropped, "You mean, you mean this is how I become a portrait? You're not gonna wave your wand over me or anything?"

Euphemia shook her head, taking far more joy in her son's misery than what was appropriate.

Fleamont and her had called over a professional portrait artist, from India nonetheless, to fulfill James' wish. Of course, they hadn't told him what would happen, just that they had a way to turn him into a portrait. He had been jumping around the house in excitement for the past two days since he had gotten the news.

" _I'm going to be a portrait! I'm going to be a portrait!" He was singing, as he twirled around._

" _Just like you, Mr. Ralston," He had told the surly faced man, who merely glared in response, "And when I become a portrait, The High and Mighty James Potter The First, you and I can have tea and crumpets together. Just like the Muggle Queen!" He had gasped, waving an invisible sword around._

 _His parents had merely shook their head at him, knowing he wouldn't be quite so excited when he found out exactly what he had to do to 'become' a portrait._

Now, tired and grumpy for he had been sitting on the uncomfortable armchair for over three hours, he had lost all the will to become a portrait and was positively whining.

"Muuuuuuuuuum," He wailed again.

Euphemia shushed him, "James, love, don't move, or all of this would go to waste. You don't want the portrait to be ruined after so much hard work, do you?"

James' eyes widened comically in horror at the thought of all of this going to waste and he dutifully shut his mouth and sat ramrod straight, earning an approving nod from the portraitist.

Feeling an arm wrap around her shoulders, the Potter matriarch turned her head to see her husband standing beside her.

"Don't you think we're being just a tad cruel by making him do this? I mean, he can't sit still for more than a half hour and here he is, in the same uncomfortable position and chair for over three hours," Fleamont sounded slightly concerned and now it was him she shushed.

"Oh, please. Think of this as payback for all the times he's been a little terror around the house. A little calmness won't hurt him," Her mind flashed to all the times she had found various rooms in the Manor painted in all the colors of the spectrum, her clothes stuck to the ceiling, Fleamont's potions mixed in with pumpkin to give rise to some truly disastrous results and so many more. And he was just eight! She was simultaneously dreading and anticipating what he would do as he grew older.

However, she reasoned, the premature grey hairs taking root in her husband's and her hair had to be avenged, and well, what better way than this?

It was another hour before James was finally allowed to get up, which he did with quite a lot of relief and excitement. In fact, he was so excited at being allowed to move that he completely forgot about the portrait for which he had painstakingly sat in one position for four hours.

When, after some time of zooming on his broom in the backyard, he remembered , he immediately dashed off to the antique room where his portrait was covered with a black silk cloth.

He could hardly contain his eagerness as he gingerly removed the cloth. When his eyes fell upon the portrait, his mouth fell open in disbelief.

"MOM! My mouth does not look like, like _that_!"

Ralston Potter smirked at him from his place on the wall.

* * *

 _James had to have gotten his mischief from somewhere right? *wink wink*_

 **Word count: 1194**

 **Written for :**

 **-Task 2 of Potions** ** _(Write about something old fashioned)_**

 **\- Hog's Head, Monopoly** ** _(portrait)_**

 **\- World Wish day** ** _(Write about a wish)_**


End file.
